


The French Mistake

by LoverAwakened



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DCMB 2018, Episode Related, Episode: s06e15 The French Mistake, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Season/Series 06, dcmb2018, deancasminibang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 11:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15460536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoverAwakened/pseuds/LoverAwakened
Summary: In a bid for control of Heaven, the archangel Raphael attacks Castiel and his allies, leaving Balthazar no choice but to send the Winchesters to an alternate universe for the safety of the world with a key that opens a lock containing all of Heaven’s stolen weapons. Sam and Dean discover that in this alternate reality, they are actors on a TV show called Supernatural. Even more of a shock, Dean learns that his alternate universe self is married to a man, a man who happens to be the mirror image of his best friend. With their world once again on the verge of the apocalypse, the Winchester brothers race to find a way back to their own universe before Raphael can send his minions after them and Dean tries to come to terms with the fact that maybe his angel just might mean a little more to him than Dean previously thought.





	The French Mistake

The French Mistake 

 

Thunder crashed overhead rattling the window in Bobby’s den. The storm was gnarly for this time of year in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, but then again, the Winchester brothers were used to weird. 

Dean sat at Bobby’s desk surfing the internet for a case. He quickly scanned the page with the headline: Mauled Man, Mystery Continues… accompanied by a gruesome picture of blood, shredded muscle and what looked like rib bones. The hunter let the sound of rain, coming down in heavy sheets and beating a steady rhythm on the glass, soothe his nerves. It had been less than a month since Dean asked Death to get Sam’s soul back from the cage, erecting a mental wall around his brother’s scarred psyche. Going on the case last week and tracking down the Arachne hadn’t done the younger Winchester any favors. Dean knew the wall was cracking and it was just a matter of time before things went belly-up for them. 

He poured himself the last of Bobby’s rot-gut, frowning when he realized there were only a few dribbles left. Sam strolled into the den, the collar of his tan jacket popped up and a stack of old musty books in hand. 

“Where’s Bobby?” 

“In town, on a supply run.” 

Sam’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked out the window at the raging storm. Lightning flashed, casting a purple-blue light over the den. “In this?” 

“Yeah, man’s a hero,” Dean looked at Sam, shaking the empty bottle of whiskey. “We are officially out of Hunter’s Helper.” Sam scoffed, but before he could retort, the brothers saw the lights flicker. 

“Hello, boys.” 

Sam spun around at the sound of the smarmy British accent, but Dean just stared, eyes narrowed. He didn’t like winged dicks dropping in on him, especially in one of the few places Dean considered home. The angel rushed around Sam to the desk mumbling about The Godfather. 

Dean stood from the chair, mouth hanging open. Why was this douche droning on about mafia movies? “Balthazar.” The angel ignored him, picking up a box of table salt from next to the desk. “Hey.” Balthazar shook the salt into a large wooden bowl on Bobby’s desk, continuing to ignore Dean. The hunter’s mouth opened and closed a few times before Dean found his voice again, still trying to wrap his head around the current situation. “I said, hey!”

Balthazar stopped, turning toward Dean with a condescending expression on his face. “Yes, you did. Twice. Good for you.” The angel leaned forward giving Dean a quick pat on the arm. “Blood of lamb, blood of lamb,” Balthazar mumbled looking around the den. A swoosh of wings sounded and the brothers gasped when the angel suddenly disappeared, reappearing with fluttering wings across the house in Bobby’s kitchen. 

Dean walked toward the kitchen while Balthazar rummaged through the refrigerator. “Ah, here it is, yes, blood of lamb!” 

“Why are you talking about the Godfather?” Sam asked, confused. 

Another flap of the angel’s wings and Balthazar was back at Bobby’s desk again. “Because we’re in it, right now, tonight.” Dean stood next to Sam, the two brothers exchanging an incredulous look. “And in the role of Michael Corleone,” Balthazar continued, “the archangel, Raphael.” He poured the lamb’s blood into the bowl with the salt, the Winchesters staring in disbelief. 

“You mind telling us what you mean?” Dean growled. He was in no mood to play guessing games and he didn’t like the sound of the situation one bit. Balthazar went back to ignoring him, frantically looking around and emptying the desk’s drawers. 

“No, no, no, no,” the angel grumbled, “No, no, no, no…ah, yes!” He sighed, relieved, “Bone of a lesser saint.” Balthazar held up the clear baggie containing what looked like a piece of backbone. Sam’s eyes widened as he looked at the angel. “This vertebra will do very nicely; you’re Mr. Singer keeps a beautiful pantry.” Balthazar cooed. He crushed the bone in his hand, sprinkling the bone dust and fragments into the bowl. 

“What, Raphael is after you?” Dean asked. 

“Raphael is after us all.” Balthazar’s voice was low, laced with venom. “He’s consolidated his strength and now he’s on the move” 

“And where’s Cas?” Sam asked, Dean relieved his brother voiced the question he was thinking since douche-angel arrived. 

“Oh, Cassie?” 

Dean flinched at the nickname. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him that he wasn’t the only one with a nickname for the nerd-angel. There was something between Balthazar and Cas, Dean knew it, he just couldn’t put his finger on exactly what that something was. And it wasn’t just that Balthazar had saved Cas from Raphael back at douche-angel’s mansion or that Cas had doused the ring of holy fire and let the British motherfucker go. There was something there. 

“Cassie is deep, deep underground.” 

Fear shot through Dean at the angel’s comment. Cas was underground? Was he okay? Was he hurt? Did he need Dean’s help? Dean quickly dismissed the last thought. Of course Cas didn’t need Dean’s help. Dean was just a mud-monkey. And Cas had Balthazar, apparently. 

“Good old Raphie put out a hit list on every last Samaritan who helped our dear Cas, including both of you, but so much more importantly, me.” Dean was shocked and a little bit angry. Raphael was gunning for Cas and all this British dick cared about was saving his own hide. Cas needed better friends. The Winchesters tip-toed forward, Balthazar mixing the ingredients in the bowl as he walked to the window in Bobby’s den. “See, he wants to draw Cas out in the open…” 

“And you expect us to just believe you?” Sam stood taller, squaring his shoulders. 

“Oh, don’t,” Balthazar dipped his fingers in the gross blood-bone mixture, drawing a sigil on the window that looked like a bow and arrow inside of a circle, “You’ll go where I throw you, either way.” 

Sam glared angrily at the angel. 

“What is that supposed to mean?” Dean asked as the lights of Bobby’s house began flickering again. 

“And that’s all the time we have, gentlemen.” 

Thunder crashed and lightning flashed behind the window as the lights continued to flicker in the house. Sam and Dean looked around. The panic was starting to set in. Balthazar walked over to the brothers and Dean noticed for the first time that the angel was limping. He looked tired. Dean didn’t even know angels could get tired. Balthazar pulled open his fitted black jacket, checking his pockets. There was blood soaking through the left side of his gray deep V-neck shirt from what looked like a stab wound. 

“Woah,” Dean said, concerned, “What happened there?” 

Balthazar looked at the rapidly growing blood stain on the shirt. “Oh, yes, garish I know. You see, Uncle Raphie sent one of his nastiest to handle me.” 

Dean’s eyes flicked down to the wound. Was this why Cas was underground? Was his friend injured too? 

“I’m flattered, actually. And down a lung at the moment, but that’s alright.” Balthazar nodded to Sam, handing him an orange handled key. “Here’s for you.” 

Sam’s brow furrowed. “What am I supposed to do with this?” Sam held the key pinched between his index finger and thumb like the key might have cooties. 

“Run with it,” Balthazar informed them. The angel grunted as he was suddenly and forcefully thrown across the room, crashing into a few small stacks of books. 

A tall angel with dark hair, a long black overcoat and a scowl stalked through Bobby’s kitchen headed straight for Balthazar. 

“Virgil.” Balthazar struggled to get to his feet, wiping dust and debris from his slacks. Virgil strode forward with righteous purpose as Balthazar lifted an outstretched palm to the brothers. “I said, run!” The angel bellowed. 

Virgil by-passed the angel, going instead to the broken window Balthazar flung the Winchesters through. He scanned the darkness with angelic senses, fat drops of rain soaking his vessel’s face. The brothers seemed to have disappeared into the night. Virgil rounded on the other angel, gripping the lapels of the dark, blood-soaked jacket, lifting Balthazar easily off his feet, slamming the angel hard against the wall. “Where are the weapons,” Virgil demanded. 

Balthazar grunted through the pain ringing around his borrowed skull. Wearily, he opened his eyes, Virgil’s expression absolutely terrifying. He wished, not for the first time, that Cassie and the Winchesters had never found him hiding out in that mansion dealing in human souls, essentially—and involuntarily—bringing him into Heaven’s civil war and the archangel Raphael to his doorstep. 

He and Castiel fought side by side for millennia and Balthazar was quite fond of the angel. Had Castiel shown any interest, Balthazar would most definitely have pursued that. But Cassie was a good little soldier; emotionless, robotic. Until he met the Winchesters. 

Virgil changed tactics, bringing a hand to Balthazar’s throat, squeezing. “I will only ask once more, traitor,” the angel spat, “where are the weapons?” 

“Locked away,” Balthazar choked out, nails digging into Virgil’s flesh as he tried to pry the angel’s hand away from the punishing grip on his throat. “And I gave the key to the Winchesters and sent them far, far away. Somewhere Raphael will never find them.” 

Virgil released him, Balthazar’s body crashing once again to the floor of Mr. Singer’s den, black spots dotting his vision. 

“Perhaps you have underestimated the great Raphael.” Virgil sneered, taking off with a flap of wings. 

 

***

 

Dean felt his stomach drop as he and Sam were thrown through the sigil-painted window with angelic force. The shattering of the glass crackled loudly in Dean’s ears, body feeling as though it was being pulled and pushed in a thousand different directions. He hated being mojo’d. Friggin’ angels. Dean expected to land on the hard, punishing ground, soaked to the bone from the heavy rain. Instead, the hunter found himself landing on a soft black air-mat with not a single drop of rain in sight. He looked to the side, making sure his brother was there with him, breathing a sigh of relief when he saw a mop of shaggy brown hair next to him. 

A deep voice yelled, ‘cut’ and the brothers were on their feet in an instant, adrenaline pumping, ready for a fight. They quickly looked around, trying to take in their surroundings and were utterly confused. There were about twenty-five people, a few of them in chairs, gathered around a lot of expensive looking equipment. It may have been about five years or so since Dean worked undercover as a PA in Hollywood for a case, but he knew a film set when he saw one. There was sound equipment and cameras, monitors, wires everywhere, and when Dean looked behind him, Bobby’s den was nothing but a quickly thrown together set with three removable walls and an open area that was supposed to lead to the kitchen. 

A round of applause sounded, echoing off the rafters. Dean was still crouched into a defensive position when some middle-aged dude in a too tight yellow t-shirt came over and slapped Dean on the ass. “Real good, solid fall. Way to go.” 

Dean froze. He wasn’t sure what to do with that. 

“Jared. Jensen.” The brothers looked up at the short, round man with the white mustache sitting behind the TV monitor. “Outstanding. That was just great.” 

“Supernatural, scene one, ‘Echo’ Take one, tail slate, marker.” Came a voice from behind Dean making him jump. 

What the hell? 

Bells started ringing, the crew hustled around the set, chatting with one another. They peered through the window they just busted through, turning back around to the white mustached guy near the filming equipment. 

“So, no angels?” Sam whispered. 

“No angels, I think.” 

“Should we be killing anybody?” 

“I don’t think so.” 

“Running?” 

“Where?” Dean asked.

Sam picked up a piece of the broken glass from the floor and shook it. It was silicone. 

Seriously, what the Hell? 

White moustache man was having a conversation with a douche-y looking blonde man seated next to him and creepy yellow t-shirt guy. White Mustache did not look pleased. There was a loud clang followed by the overhead lights kicking on. 

“That’s a wrap on Jared and Jensen.” Creepy yellow t-shirt guy shouted into his walkie-talkie. 

“Who the fuck are— “ 

“Jared,” a soft feminine voice floated up to Sam, “Three minutes, okay? Great.” The cute, petite blonde grabbed Sam by the arm, walking off with him in tow. 

Dean followed closely behind his little brother. “Dude, where are we going?” He whispered harshly. Another cute petite woman, this one a brunette, flew out of nowhere, intersected Dean and his brother and pushed Dean off in the opposite direction. 

“Jensen, there you are. Let’s just get you in the chair.” She smiled brightly at him, peppy bounce in her step as she herded him toward a chair in front of a large mirror surrounded by tons of photos of himself. 

“The chair?” 

“Okay, hon, we’re just gonna get this makeup off your face.” 

“What?” She grabbed Dean’s chin firmly, tilting his head and wiping his cheek with a wet wipe. “Whoa, I’m not wearing any ma—” Dean grabbed the brunette’s wrist, noticing the wet wipe had tan colored makeup on it. He touched his cheek, looking in the mirror at his own shocked expression. “Oh, crap. I’m a painted whore.” 

After Dean got the wretched makeup off his face, he quickly walked to where Sam had disappeared to, nerves frazzled as he tried not to break out in a dead run. Sam met up with him, looking calm and collected. 

“Hey.” 

“Dude, they put freaking makeup on us!” Dean complained. “Those bastards!” 

“Look, I think I know what this is,” Sam interrupted Dean’s rant. 

“What?” 

“It’s a TV show.” 

“No fucking shit, Columbo!” Dean snapped 

“I mean, here, wherever here is… this Twilight Zone Balthazar zapped us into. For whatever reason, our life is a TV show.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“No, seriously, why would anybody want to watch our lives?” 

“Well, according to the interviewer, not many people do.” Sam shrugged. Dean rolled his eyes and huffed, walking away. “Look, I’m not saying it makes sense. We landed in some dimension where you’re Jensen Ackles and I’m something called a Jared Padalecki.” 

“Oh, so, what, now you’re Polish?” Dean snipped, making his way to the exit. “Is any of this making sense to you?” He waved his arm at the set behind him. They reached the door, sign informing them it was KM Motion Picture Studios—Stage 4. Dean stepped out into the crisp air, breath a visible puff in front of his face. He lit up when he spotted the Impala in the lot. “Oh, hey, at least my Baby made it.” 

Anger rushed through him, killing his happy buzz, as a large burly man with a bucket and brush began flinging mud across the Chevy’s windshield. “Hey. Hey! What—” Dean glanced left, bile churning in his stomach. There was a whole row of black 1967 Chevrolet Impalas, all of them in various states of disrepair. “I feel sick,” Dean grabbed his brother’s shoulder to support himself before his knees gave out. “Imma be sick.” 

They kept walking. “I wanna go home. I feel like this whole place is bad-touching me,” Dean cringed.

“Yeah, I know, me too. What do you think, pray to Cas?” 

“It’s our best shot, if he’s still alive.” Even thinking of the angel being dead was enough to bring the vomit up to sting the back of his throat. They stopped in front of the open doorway of a fake storefront. Dean bowed his head and closed his eyes. He held his arms outstretched. “Dear Castiel, who art maybe running his ass away from Heaven…we pray that you have your ears on.” Dean closed his fists, squeezing his eyes shut tighter, waiting. “So…breaker, breaker…?” They looked around for Cas. They didn’t see their angel friend, but they did see Balthazar through the doorway standing in the middle of a ‘street’, smoking a cigarette. 

Whatever. Dean would take whatever he could get at his point. “Balthazar, hey, Balthazar. Oh, thank God.” And that was a sentence the hunter never thought he’d utter. He and Sam ran into the street. Dean was so happy to see the British dick; he could hug him. He came to an abrupt stop in front of the angel. “Should you be smoking with a punctured lung?” Dean blurted. Balthazar quirked his eyebrow, flicking the ash from his cigarette. 

“What?” 

“Never mind. What is all this? What did you do to us?” 

A smile tugged the corner of the angel’s mouth before a serious expression settled on his face. “To keep you out of Virgil’s reach, I’ve cast you into an alternate reality, a universe similar to ours in most respects, yet dramatically different in others.” 

“Like Bizarro Earth, right?” Balthazar nodded. “Except instead of having Bizarro Superman, we get this clown factory.” Dean bit out. 

Balthazar’s expression faltered for a moment. “Um…yeah, well…anyway, no time to explain. Do you have the key?” The angel held out his hand to Sam, who quickly grabbed the key from his pocket and dropped it into Balthazar’s hand. 

“Yeah, so, what does this thing do anyway?” Sam asked the angel, curious. 

Balthazar took another drag on his cigarette. “It opens a room.” 

“What’s in the room?” Dean prompted. 

“Every weapon I stole from Heaven.” 

Dean’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “And you gave it to us?” 

“To keep it safe until Cas or I could reach you. With those weapons, Cassie has a chance to rally his forces.” 

“Oh, okay, good.” Sam nodded. “So now, what’s up with all this TV crap?” 

A puzzled expression settled on the angel’s face. “Pardon?” 

“Amen, Padaleski.” 

“Lecki.” 

“What?” 

“Lecki, I’m pretty sure.” 

The angel threw his smoke on the ground, crushing the butt beneath an Italian leather loafer. He pulled a small crumpled packet of paper from his back pocket. “Damn it, did they put out new pages?” 

“New what?” Dean inquired. 

“Is this a cosmic joke?” Sam muttered. 

“If it is, it’s stupid, and we don’t get it,” Dean finished. 

“Yeah,” Sam nodded. 

Balthazar chuckled, flipping through the pages in his hand. “Are you guys okay?” The angel smiled. 

Dean snatched the paper from Balthazar’s hands, scanning the words. “Gimmie that…what is—” Dean turned to his brother. He’d had just about enough of this Bizarro World. “These are words in a script,” he told Sam, “This isn’t Balthazar.” 

“But look at him.” 

Balthazar eyed the two brothers suspiciously. “Do you guys want to run lines or…are you just fucking with me again?” 

“His name’s Sebastian. Really? Sebastian?” Dean said the name like a bad taste in his mouth. 

“Oh, wow, just great.” Sam snatched the key back from Fake-Balthazar, both Winchesters knocking into his shoulders as they blew past him. 

“Sebastian, Jensen. What’s up with the names around here?” Dean asked his brother as they walked away from the imposter. 

“Oh, darling, come on. Don’t be like that!” Fake-Balthazar called. 

“Suck my dick, Sebastian!” Dean shouted over his shoulder. 

“I don’t think Misha would like me doing that, love. Quite jealous, that one is.” Fake-Balthazar responded. 

Dean tried to put as much distance between him and the British douchewad as possible. “Who’s Misha?” He asked Sam, thoughtfully. His brother just shrugged, shaking his head. “I bet she’s hot,” Dean smirked. 

They walked down the street lined by fake storefronts and came upon a large trailer, the sign posted on the door read: J. Ackles. 

“Hey,” Sam stopped, pointing at the door of the trailer. 

“J. Ackles,” Dean murmured, “That’s Fake-Me. This must be Fake-Mine!” They hopped in the trailer and were stopped short by their surroundings. The first thing Dean saw was an enormous remote control helicopter. 

Awesome. 

The brothers turned to find a 300-gallon aquarium in ‘Jensen’s’ trailer. Dean supposed it was soothing to watch the fish swimming around. Sam found a laptop sitting out on a small rectangular dining table. He fired it up and immediately began researching Jensen Ackles. The nerd was right at home. 

“It says here you’re from Texas.” 

“Really,” Dean nodded. He always had a thing for cowboys. 

“And uh…oh, it says you were on a soap opera.” 

“What?” Dean paled, looking over Sam’s shoulder at the video clip playing. It was Dean, or Jensen rather, who looked to be about nineteen at the time, spouting off some crappy lines on a television soap opera. Fuck, this was creepy. “I don’t like this universe, Sammy.” Dean slammed the screen down, unable to suffer through anymore of the cheesy acting. “We need to get out of this universe.” 

“Yeah, no argument here, but I don’t think our prayers are reaching Cas.” 

“I think we are definitely out of soul-phone range, but if we can reverse Balthazar’s spell…I watched every move, if we just get the ingredients, right? Get back to that same window and—there’s no place like home!” 

Sam and Dean raced out of Jensen’s trailer, back to Bobby’s den set on Stage 4. Sam dug through the desk drawers while Dean combed through the weapons bag on the couch. They were crushed when they realized everything around them was fake. 

They beat it off the set, going to the outside lot where the mud-covered Impala sat. “Okay, so we round up the genuine articles, bring them back here for the spell.” Dean slid behind the wheel, Sam climbing in the passenger seat, as he turned over the ignition and slowly pulled away from the lot. Dean’s heart sank when the Chevy’s engine sputtered. This wasn’t his Baby. It was a damn prop, just like everything else here. Dean wanted to hit something. How the fuck were they supposed to get out of here? 

 

***

Castiel peered over top of the Southern Alps of New Zealand, staring down at the reflective surface of Lake Pakaki. The sun was peeking over the horizon, creating a gorgeous orange-pink sky. His Father’s work was truly breath-taking. Castiel looked down the snow-capped mountains to the tree covered hills to the west, their vivacious green coloring reminiscent of Dean Winchester’s eyes; another one of his Father’s beautiful creations. The flutter of wings pulled Castiel from his thoughts. The angel didn’t need to turn around to know it was his friend, feeling the thrum of the other’s grace reaching out for him, gently probing, searching for what, Castiel didn’t know. 

“Hello, Balthazar.” 

The grace reaching for Castiel’s briefly flickered with happiness, but also, something else. Castiel turned, eyes dropping to the dried blood of Balthazar’s shirt, concerned. “What happened? Why haven’t you healed?” 

Balthazar waved him off, taking a seat atop the mountain next to Castiel. “Good ol’ Raphie sent Virgil after me. Got poked with the business end of an angel blade.” 

Castiel’s eyes widened in fear. He lifted the crunchy fabric of the other’s shirt with careful fingers, inspecting the wound. “I can heal you,” Castiel offered, hand already reaching over the gash. 

“No,” Balthazar gently pushed Castiel’s hand away, touched by the offer, knowing doing so would severely deplete Castiel’s grace for a time. “I appreciate it, old friend, but we have more pressing matters.” Castiel’s head tilted to the side, eyes squinting adorably. “I don’t remember where I stashed the weapons and I need time to find them.” 

“Okay,” Castiel stared quizzically, “so we need a plan to deal with Raphael and Virgil while you find them?” 

“Ah, I sort of already put a plan in motion…” 

Balthazar looked away as his words trailed off and Castiel felt an odd tingling sensation in his stomach. He didn’t care for it one bit. “Balthazar,” Castiel’s tone sharp, causing the other angel to flinch, “what did you do?” 

“I may have told the Winchesters that you were in trouble with Raphael and needed their help.” 

“You what?!” Castiel bellowed. 

“Calm down, darling, they’re fine. I sent them off to another universe. It will be a little while until Raphael figures out which one.” 

Castiel’s fists clenched at his sides and the angel willed his body not to tremble with the anger he felt quickly rising. “And what happens when the archangel finds them?” 

“Not to worry, while Virgil and Raphie waste time having a Pow-Wow on how to reach the Winchesters, we’ll use that time to find the weapons ourselves and bring the boys back home.” 

“You should have told me about your plan Balthazar, before you involved the Winchesters!” 

“And what? Waste time while you figure out a way to not involve your favorite pets?” 

In an instant, Castiel was in Balthazar’s face, cold blue eyes glaring menacingly. “They are not pets,” Castiel growled low in his throat. 

“In case you’ve forgotten, Cassie, Raphael will restart the apocalypse and annihilate most of the planet, including your two…friends. We need to find those weapons and the Winchesters are helping us do it—albeit involuntarily.” 

It made sense, but Castiel didn’t like it. He did his best to ensure that Dean was kept out of this war. The hunter had already given so much. 

Castiel stepped back from Balthazar. “Let’s go find those weapons. The quicker, the better.” 

The faster he and Balthazar found Heaven’s weapons the faster he could get Sam and Dean back home, and off the archangel’s radar.

 

***

 

Dean sat in the back of a large black SUV with Sam as Clint or Cliff or whatever-the-fuck this dude’s name was drove them home, wherever that was. He became even more anxious when he realized they were in Vancouver. Fuck, they weren’t even in America. Son of a bitch. 

“Jared, you still staying at Jensen’s while your place is being remodeled?” The chauffer asked the rearview mirror. 

Sam froze. “Um, yeah. Yeah I’m just gonna stay with, um, Jensen here,” He replied. 

The place they pulled into wasn’t a house. This thing was a fucking mansion. Jesus Christ, how much did this Jensen guy make? Was he the star of the show?

Stepping through the front door of the home was surreal. Dean was checking out the mini-bar beside the enormous windows that had a great view of the backyard when a voice startled him.

“Hey, babe, I got you flowers.”  
   
Dean jumped at the familiar sounding voice, spinning around and locking eyes with Cas, who was holding a small bouquet of flowers. His dark hair was artfully disheveled, blue eyes vibrant, and those chapped pink lips smiled in a way he’d never seen before. Gone was the oversized suit and trench coat and in its place, were snug, dark-wash jeans, a light blue button down shirt, and a waist-length fitted black coat.  
   
“Cas?” Sam squeaked.  
   
“Ah, yes, because that never gets old, Jared.”  
   
Dean immediately felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on him. This was not his Cas. Sure, he looked identical, but his voice was all wrong. It was too high pitched, there wasn’t a scratchy, graveliness to it, even the speech pattern was wrong.  
   
“How was work today, baby?” Cas stepped in front of Sam, shouldering the younger Winchester out of the way before grabbing Dean by the collar of his jacket and pulling him in for a chaste kiss on the lips.  
   
It happened so quickly, Dean didn’t have time to stop it, just let Cas pull him in. The second their lips touched was electrifying and he felt his eyes flutter closed and his heart pounded against his ribcage like it was trying to make a break for it. The plush lips fit perfectly against Dean’s own and the hunter couldn’t remember the last time a simple kiss made him feel this way, but all too soon Cas was pulling away, leaving the elder Winchester standing in stunned silence.  
   
“Honey?”  
   
The hunter shook himself out of his stupor. Dean turned to his brother for help, but Sam was looking away, face bright red. Oh my God, Sam just saw me kiss a dude! I just kissed a dude! “Work. Right. Uh, work was great.”  
   
“So, you and Cas, huh?” Sam whispered and was rewarded with an elbow to the ribs curtesy of his older brother.  
   
“Do you honestly think that’s funny, Jared?” Cas scowled.  
   
“Right, because you’re not Cas, I mean, how could you be. You…are the delightful actor that plays Castiel.” Dean swallowed, nervously looking around the large room and spotting a mantle above the sleek black fireplace littered with photos. “And…you’re in my house because…because we’re…uh…” Dean spied a large, silver-framed photo in the center of the mantle. Dean and Cas were in tuxedos, smiles wide, both proudly showing off the rings on their left hands. “Cuz we’re...married!" he turned to Sam, horrified. “Really?! Dude, I married Fake-Cas!” Dean whispered harshly.  
   
Fake-Cas rolled his eyes. “Actually, it’s Misha, you know, just in case you didn’t read the marriage license when you signed it.”

Dean’s stomach fluttered at Fake-Cas’ witty comeback. Then Dean’s head snapped up. Misha? He remembered earlier when Fake-Balthazar had made the comment about Misha being jealous and sucking his dick. Dean looked at Fake-Cas. Great, now he was picturing those pink lips stretched wide around his cock. No! No, stop it! Don’t go there.

“So, Jared, I assume since you’re here, again, your place is still undergoing renovations?” Misha sat on the arm of the black leather sofa, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Yeah, uh, yes. I just wanted to say thanks for, you know, letting me stay with you guys. So, um, thanks, Misha.” Sam rambled, furiously wiping his hands down the sides of his jeans while shifting from foot to foot. 

Misha looked back and forth between the brothers, a curious expression on his face. “What’s going on?” 

“W-What do you mean?” Sam stumbled. 

“You’re never nice to me.” 

Sam’s eyes widened, jaw dropping in complete shock. “What? I’m always nice to you!” 

Misha squinted his eyes like he was detecting bullshit. In that moment, he looked just like Cas. 

Dean felt a pang in his chest. 

“Okay, how about the fact that you refused to come to our wedding last year because I ‘turned Jensen gay’ and I was ‘stealing your best friend away’?” He stood then, crowding Sam’s personal space, staring the gigantor down. “Or the fact that you have told me, to my face, that you hate Castiel’s character.” Misha’s eyes burned with a fury Dean’s only seen in Cas when he’s being all righteous. “You said Cas is stupid and would have been killed off ages ago and the only reason I’m still around is because I’m fucking—and now married to—the show’s lead actor?” The tension between Sam and Misha was intense and Dean had to stop it before it came to blows. 

“What?! No! Sam adores you!” Misha turned to stare at Dean, the anger vanishing from his face, replaced with confusion and possibly a little concern. He tilted his head in only the way Cas could. “Sam?” 

“Oh, uh, sorry…long day at work.” Dean covered. Shit, he was going to have to remember they were supposed to be Jensen and Jared, not Sam and Dean. 

“Adore is a little strong.” Sam side-whispered. 

“Dude, not helping!” Dean growled. 

“Sorry.” 

Misha stepped back with a sigh, “Whatever. So, what are your guys’ plans for the night?” 

“Work.” Sam answered, too quickly. 

Dean saw the look Misha speared Sam with and tried to smooth it over. “Jared and I were just gonna run some lines and work on our actor stuff.”

Misha’s eyes bounced from Sam to Dean multiple times. He chewed his lower lip thoughtfully and nodded. “Riiiiiiight. Surprise, surprise, Jared’s over and I am once again being sequestered to the bedroom of my own home, but you two have fun.” 

Sam did his best to walk his way backward out of the awkward situation, but Dean couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy. He didn’t know what happened to the Jared and Jensen of this universe when they were thrown here by that prick, Balthazar, but in this universe, he was married to this guy. This guy who obviously was used to Jensen picking Jared over him, even though they were lovers…spouses. It killed Dean to see the hurt in Misha’s eyes when he talked about being shut up in their bedroom. 

Dean reached his hand out for Misha, gently grazing his forearm. “Hey, it’s not like that, okay?” 

“Sure, Jen. Look, I’m gonna go soak in the tub for a while. It’s been a long day for me too and I just need to relax. Are you coming to bed tonight or are you ditching me to hang with Jared again?” Misha let out a defeated sigh when Dean hesitated. Misha pressed his lips into a hard, flat line and Dean swore he could see the beginnings of tears in those glassy blue orbs. “Right. Of course. See you tomorrow on set, I guess.” Misha’s voice was barely above a whisper. 

His fake-husband looked like someone had kicked his puppy. Dean’s heart ached. “Ca—Misha, wait!” Misha left them and headed for the staircase, not looking back once. Dean contemplated going after him. But, what would he say? Hey, guess what, I’m not really your husband and I don’t even know where he is, but if I can get this spell to work and send me and Sam back to our universe, your husband will be back to blowing you off for his best friend as usual. Dean felt like such a dick. 

Sam and Dean explored the first floor of the mansion and found an office-type room containing a desk, round card-table, multiple computers, and another black leather sofa. After a couple hours of searching they finally found what they needed. They were both logged onto an auction site and bidding on the bone of a lesser saint. 

“Wrist bone of saint and holy reliquary. Museum-quality from diocese in Oaxaca. Looks legit.” Sam said. 

“All right. Auction house is in Mexico City, could be there day after tomorrow,” Dean scratched his chin, “We, uh, case it, yank it, be back here by the end of the week,” He shrugged.

Sam shifted in his seat, worrying his bottom lip. “Or we could just buy it.” 

“What?” Dean asked, eyebrows shooting to his hairline. “Dude, that thing is over a hundred thou— “ 

Sam held up a credit card in Fake-Dean’s name. “Hello, Jensen Ackles.” Dean picked the lock on the bottom right desk drawer, taking out the rest of Jensen Ackles credit cards. 

Sam spoke to the old guy at the auction house in Mexico City, because his Spanish was a hell of a lot better than Dean’s. “Wow. They said it should be at the airport first thing in the morning.” 

“Money, man. There is nothing like it.” 

Sam stood, stretching is humongous limbs and yawned. “All right, I’m gonna crash on the couch.” He mumbled, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, crawling onto the leather sofa and letting out a relieved sigh. 

Dean nodded, staying at the computer and finishing his glass of expensive whiskey. It went down smooth. Man, he could get used to living like this. He started researching all the disasters from the previous year when Lucifer was up and running around. Being reminded of his brother sacrificing himself and jumping in the cage and Sam wandering around without a soul made him cringe. Dean was glad to have his brother back. He didn’t know how many pages he went through before the hunter was struggling to keep his eyes open. 

Dean was enjoying oblivion when he felt something shaking him. His eyes refused to open as consciousness slowly crept in. 

“Babe, come to bed.” He heard a soft voice, felt fingers carding through his hair. It felt nice. The person leaned over, warm breath ghosting across the shell of Dean’s ear. “Come on, Jen. You’ll be hurting like Hell tomorrow if you stay sleeping at the desk.” 

Dean groaned, blinking his tired eyes. “Cas? Sam still on the couch?” He grumbled, voice scratchy. 

There was a pregnant pause before Cas answered. “He is on the couch, yes. Did you want to wake him up so he can go sleep the guest room?” Cas asked, gripping Dean’s shoulders and massaging the muscles. 

“Nah, he’s fine. Sam deserves some rest.” Dean sat straight up, squaring his shoulders and moving his head in a circle to loosen his neck muscles. “Fuuuuuck, Cas, feels so good,” He moaned. Cas snorted and continued to rub Dean’s shoulders, pressing his thumbs in circles on Dean’s neck. 

“You have been Dean Winchester for way too long.” 

Dean’s eyes flew open, suddenly wide awake. “Uh, Misha…I meant Misha.” Dean could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. “’m just tired.” 

Misha bent down, licking a stripe from Dean’s shoulder up the back of his neck, placing a soft bite just underneath the hunter’s ear. Dean shivered, skin down his left arm erupting in goosebumps, his cock giving a small twitch. “Let’s get you in bed, huh?” 

“Yeah, uh, okay.” Dean conceded. He took Misha’s offered hand, following his fake-husband up the stairs to their bedroom. Dean shook with nervous anticipation, wondering exactly what it was that Misha expected from him. 

The master bedroom was enormous. It was fucking gorgeous. Beautiful glossy mahogany hardwood contrasted with beige walls with white trim; the cathedral ceiling white with dark wooden beams and a dark wooden fan that hung above a king-sized bed. On the wall behind the bed were horizontal brown panels that complemented the mahogany floor. The bed had a white leather headboard, white fluffy pillows and comforter that was probably goose down or some other fancy shit. A couple of pillows and a runner laying horizontal across the bed were a damask pattern of black and gray and a large gray shag area rug was positioned underneath a small white couch-like bench at the foot of the bed. 

Dean laughed to himself. That was always one piece of furniture he would never understand. 

Misha slipped off his robe, laying it across the silly bench. He wore only black briefs, miles and miles of smooth tanned skin on display. Dean swallowed hard, standing like an idiot, fully clothed, in the middle of Misha’s—their—bedroom. 

Misha folded back the comforter, tossing the decorative pillows to the floor at the side of the bed, before crawling on all fours to turn off the lamp on the nightstand on, Dean assumed, Jensen’s side of the bed. Misha froze with his hand on the switch, still bent over on his knees with that sexy—no, fuck, not sexy, goddamn it—ass in the air, giving Dean a puzzled look. “Are you gonna get undressed or are you sleeping in the clothes that you’ve been wearing for 16 hours?” 

“Um, oh, right, yeah.” Dean stammered, stripping down to his boxers. 

“What is that?” Misha squeaked. 

“What is what?” 

Misha sat back on his heels pointing to Dean’s chest. Dean looked down but didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. “Did they shoot a topless scene today?” 

“What? No!” 

“Well, then why did they apply the demon warding tattoo? More importantly, Jen, why didn’t they remove it?” Misha accused. “While we’re on the subject, how come you didn’t change out of wardrobe before you left the set?” 

Dean’s brain was working a hundred miles a second trying to come up with a good excuse. Obviously, Jensen Ackles didn’t have the warding tattoo, so Dean couldn’t say he went and got inked for real. “They thought you might be able to see it when I got thrown through the window so they put it on just in case, and Jared and I were so exhausted from such a long day on set we just told them we were leaving and we’d wash the clothes and bring them back to uh, wardrobe, ourselves.” Dean laughed nervously, proud of his quick thinking and hoping his fake-husband bought it. “I totally forgot about the tattoo.” Dean added.

Misha’s face relaxed a little. “Babe, you know that’s not good for your skin. You want to take it off now, take a nice hot shower or something?” 

“Nah, I’ll be fine. I’m exhausted, I’ll, uh… I’ll shower in the morning.” Dean wasn’t sure he could handle being naked and exposed with Misha in the next room. What if his fake-husband tried to join him? “It’s the middle of the night and I just want to go to bed.” 

Misha quirked his eyebrow, sending flutters through Dean’s stomach. “If, uh, if that’s okay with you that is.” Dean backpedaled, “If you don’t want me hopping in bed without showering that’s cool too…” 

“No, Jen, it’s fine.” Misha switched off the lamp and held out his hand. “Just come to bed babe.” 

Dean looked several times between Misha’s outstretched hand and his big, dumb blue eyes. Eyes so much like Cas’. Dean hoped the angel was safe back in his world. 

“Yeah, uh, okay.” Dean hesitated another second before his feet finally carried him over to the bed. The bed he was about to share with a dude. A Cas-shaped dude. You can do this, Winchester. Cowboy up! You’ve shared a bed with Sammy plenty of times. Except this wasn’t Sam. This was a man who thought he was married to Dean. What if he expected something sexual? Dean wasn’t sure he’d be able to go through with it, no matter how many Busty Asian Beauties he thought of. 

Maybe he could just fake a headache. 

Dean slid in next to his fake-husband, laying on his back, thanking whatever deity was listening that Misha and Jensen didn’t sleep in the nude. He tried to relax his body, Misha instantly plastering himself to Dean’s side; head on the hunter’s shoulder and hand gently laying across Dean’s bare chest, the hunter flinching slightly at the skin-to-skin contact. 

“You seem tense,” Misha observed, sliding a leg on top of Dean’s. 

Oh no, here it comes. 

Dean braced himself for his fake-husband to put the moves on him, but instead the man simply slipped under the hunter’s arm, pressing a quick kiss to Dean’s cheek and nestling his head against Dean’s chest. Dean relaxed, thinking it wasn’t so bad, smiling as Misha’s wild hair tickled his face.

“You want to ride to the studio together tomorrow since I’m on set with you all day?” Misha asked, feigning nonchalance as he traced Dean’s warding tattoo, but Dean could hear the worry behind the seemingly innocent question.

It made his stomach turn, but he made a noncommittal noise, knowing full-well that he and Sam would be at the airport before his fake-husband even woke up.

Dean placed his hand over Misha’s giving it a quick squeeze before kissing the top of the man’s head. “Sure. Sounds good.”

Misha sighed happily, burying his nose into Dean’s neck. “Goodnight, Jen. I love you.” 

Misha yawned. 

Dean’s heart thundered in his chest. What the hell was he supposed to say? 

“Me too…goodnight.” He decided on quick and simple. Soon Misha’s breathing evened out, the man in a deep sleep while Dean laid awake staring at the cathedral ceiling.

Dean didn’t know what he hated more: the fact that he was cuddled in bed with a Cas look-alike, or the fact that he wasn’t terribly bothered by it. Actually, Dean was used to sharing a bed.

Since the year after his mother’s death, Dean’s father had him and Sammy on the road. Sleazy motel after sleazy motel. When Sam and Dean weren’t crammed together in a single bed with a lumpy mattress, they were jammed in the backseat of the Impala; Sam, safe in Dean’s arms, while John slept in the front.

Come to think of it, Dean had never had his own bed, his own room. Not until they stayed with Bobby. It wasn’t much and it didn’t happen often, but when John would drop the boys off for a week or two, the old grouch made up two small bedrooms right next to each other—knowing how protective Dean is over Sammy—and each room had a small bed and a little dresser with three drawers for their things. The brothers never had much in the way of belongings. Everything they needed to fit in a tiny duffle; John drilling into their heads about needing to be prepared and being able to live out of the duffle bags. Dean never mentioned it out loud, but he cherished those days their dad left them at Bobby’s. The three of them made dinner together, played catch at the nearby park, watched movies. And at the end of a long day—a day of just being a regular kid, a day of not worrying about ghosts and monsters—Dean got to sleep in his own room, in his own bed, with his clothes folded neatly inside dresser drawers that were just for him.

Dean looked at Misha’s sleeping form, the man softly snoring, and for a moment wondered if that’s what Cas would look like if the angel slept; peaceful, youthful, no fear or worry written in the lines of his face. Dean relaxed, exhausted from the clusterfuck of a day he’d had and without thinking, dropped a kiss to the top of Misha’s head before closing his eyes, letting the other man’s warmth envelop him. Dean drifted to sleep thinking about his old room at Bobby’s and maybe, just maybe, if Bobby would mind if he had it back.

 

***

Dean grunted as he felt his body being shaken. He turned on his side, arms seeking out more of the heat emanating from beside him. Whatever it was shook Dean harder and through the fog of slumber he thought he heard his name. 

Dean’s eyes sprung open as his brain registered the luxurious bed and the dark-haired man he was currently entangled with. 

“Dean,” Sam whispered, shaking his brother once again. 

Dean shrugged him off, irritated at being woke up from possibly the best night of sleep in his entire life. “What the fuck do you want, Sammy?” Dean whispered harshly, “Do you want to explain to Mish why you’re sneaking around in our room in the middle of the night?” 

He tried to be as quiet as possible, not wanting to wake up Misha, who was snoring softly. 

“Mish?” Sam asked, amused. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Dean snapped. 

Sam shook his head. “Dean, it’s nearly 7am, we gotta go.” 

Dean looked around the darkened bedroom over to the window with its thick curtains to keep out the light. “Fuck.” Dean muttered, carefully extracting himself from Misha, who apparently moon-lighted as an octopus. Sam smirked, raising an eyebrow as Dean searched the darkened room looking for his discarded clothes. “Not a word, Sammy. Not a fucking word.” 

Sam raised his hands in defense, smile wider on his stupid face. 

Dean pulled on his clothes from the night before, pausing in the doorway to take one last look at Misha’s sleeping form. Something soured in his gut at the thought of his fake-husband waking up alone, feeling abandoned once again.

 

***

Dean stared in silence out of the window from the backseat of Cliff’s SUV.

“So, I don’t mean to pry, but why are we picking up packages at 8am that haven’t cleared customs yet?” 

Dean watched Sam outside talking with the guy next to the plane with their package. “Just saving time,” he mumbled.

Sam jogged back to the SUV and slid into the backseat beside Dean, holding the package of spell ingredients carefully in his lap.

“All right, here we go,” Dean rubbed his hands together.

“Not doing anything illegal, are we?” Cliff asked the rearview mirror.

“Would it make you feel better if we said no?” Sam asked.

“No.”

Sam shrugged.

 

***

Cliff dropped them at the studio before anyone else had arrived, waving, and said to call for a ride when they were done for the day. The brothers walked to Bobby’s set in the dim light, most workers not yet at the studio. Sam set the box on the desk taking out his small switch-blade to cut through the packaging tape. 

Dean cleared off the desk and grabbed a bowl as Sam started in on the box. There was a loud clunking noise as the overhead studio lights came on and Dean swore under his breath. “Whoa, what--?” Dean heard male voices getting closer to Bobby’s set. “No, no, no.”

“We finish in 12 hours if it kills us all. Get A and B cam for scene 12.” The short, fat director came to a stop in front of the brothers. “What is this? Here for the first run-through before anyone else. Dedication.” He nodded with a pleased smile.

Dean, stepping out in front of the director and blocking his view of Sam, nudged his head to the side, signaling his brother. Sam grabbed the box and quickly left the set before people started getting nosy about the contents of the package. “Can I talk to you for a second?” Dean fumbled, searching for an excuse to get everyone out of their so they could perform Balthazar’s spell. “Um…we’re gonna need the set cleared for, safe side, an hour or so.”

The pleased smile left the man’s face, replaced with skepticism. “You need it cleared?” 

“Yeah, yeah. Me and…Jared, we’re gonna do some…actor stuff.”

The director made a face and began speaking slowly and calmly as if he were talking to a small child “Jensen, we’re thrilled to see you collaborating so creatively. And your enthusiasm is refreshing. You know, Dean Cain was like that on Lois. And that man’s a real actor. And we will clear the set exactly when we shoot the two and three-eighths pages we are scheduled to shoot on this set,” The short man placated, “So you do your actor stuff and we’ll do our camera stuff and…” 

Dean huffed, but nodded in defeat, swallowing down his anger at the balding man, but also trying calm his nerves. “Fuck my life,” Dean muttered, turning on his heel and walking away from the little gremlin. He really didn’t want to be in front of a camera. He needed to find Sam.

Sam sat in one of the director chairs that had been set up for the three actors, package sitting in the empty chair beside him. Sam bounced his leg nervously, avoiding eye contact with Misha, who was seething in the chair behind theirs. For a moment, Dean almost thought it was the real Cas, nobody had the “I’m-going-to-smite-you-into-oblivion” look quite like him. 

Except Cas never took off his trenchcoat and tie. The angel also never popped the collar of his white button-down over his black suit jacket—looking like John Travolta in Saturday Night Fever. He chuckled at the sight. “What’s up Tony Manero?” 

Misha’s eyes snapped to Dean and he scowled, holding a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a script in the other. 

Dean withered under the stare. 

Okay, so Mish was pissed about this morning. 

Noted. 

He tried to roll the tension out of his shoulders before putting on his best fake smile, strolling up to his brother. “Uh, so, bad news. Looks like we’re gonna have to do a little acting.” Dean rubbed a hand over the back of his head, shrugging his shoulders.

All the color drained from Sam’s face, eye’s going wide as saucers. “What?” He choked out. Dean would have laughed at his brother’s deer-in-the-headlights look if the hunter wasn’t feeling the exact same fear.

Misha glanced back and forth between the two, brows drawing together in confusion, but remained silent.

One of the crew called Sam over, leaving Dean alone with his fake-husband. 

“You were already gone when I woke up this morning.” Misha’s expression was neutral, but his voice betrayed his hurt. 

Dean tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Even though this man wasn’t his real husband, not even the real Cas, the pain in Misha’s voice cut Dean to the core. The hunter hadn’t had many serious relationships—only two, actually—but Dean wasn’t the kind of guy to purposefully hurt the girl he was with, including his one-night stands. That sour feeling in Dean’s stomach was back with a vengeance and he wished he could explain to Misha what was going on so the dude wasn’t miserable, thinking his husband was avoiding him. He took a deep breath, “Look, Mish--“ 

“Jared, Jensen, Misha! On set!” A voice yelled, startling Dean. 

Misha sighed, sad blue eyes looking away and it crushed Dean’s soul.

 

“Supernatural, scene 36, take one, marker.”

Sam and Dean stared down at the colored tape markers on the floor of Bobby’s set waiting. Misha stood with his back to the hunter. A wall of rigidity overcame the actor’s muscles. His shoulders hunched forward slightly. Suddenly, he was no longer Misha dressed in a Cas costume. Dean’s eyes widened, his heart aching as Misha transformed into Castiel, Angel of the Lord. He felt unshed tears begin to sting his eyes as Dean realized how much he missed his friend; the intense stare of those other-worldly blue eyes, the low, gravel voice. 

“Action!”

“Balthazar is no hero. But he knows Raphael will never take him back.”

Dean tried to suppress a shudder when the roughness of his angel’s voice washed over him. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak. Dean stood stock-still, gaze glued to the man in front of him. Misha’s brow furrowed, an eerie silence on the set as Dean realized he had a line. He looked down at the ground, walking forward, missing the area marked by the blue tape. Quickly, Dean side-stepped to the right to stand on the mark. 

“Cut!” 

The cry came from off-set and instantly the stony mask of Castiel was gone and Misha’s face stared back at him concerned. The hunter felt a pang of longing. They had to get out of this universe. He needed to make sure Cas was okay. He just needed to make it through this stupid scene.

Easier said than done, Dean found out.

“Supernatural, scene 36, take eight, marker.” 

“Action!”

Dean looked down at the crumpled page in his hand that had his lines for the scene highlighted and cleared his throat, reading the script word for word. “Dean, grimly: And yet you somehow got no problem with it.”

“Cut!” The director bellowed. 

Misha turned to the cameraman to whisper, “What the hell?”

Dean was getting agitated. They’ve spent hours trying to get this dumb scene down saying the same lines over and over. At this rate, they’d never get to the spell. 

Sam walked with lanky limbs, trying his best to nail his lines. “That’s because…that’s because we have no other choice.”

“Don’t look at the camera.” Dean whispered to his brother behind him.

“What?”

“Look anywhere but the camera.”

Sam stepped back, looking up to the ceiling and cleared his throat. “That’s because we have no other choice.” He stated, loudly. 

“Cut!”

“If there’s a key, then there must also be a lock.”  
“Cut!”

“If there’s a key, then there has to be a lock. And when we find the lock, we can get the weapons. And then we can have the weapons…and the lock. We’ll have a lock; I imagine because we opened it and the initial key that open— “ 

Misha’s jaw dropped in shock, staring in disbelief at the two men in front of him.

“We need to get all three of that crap.” Dean growled, head angled down as he yelled to the carpet, Sam still rambling through his stupid ‘lock and key’ lines. Dean needed to speed things along. “Do we really need all these lines?” Dean turned to yell at the director sitting just off-set, “I mean, I think we’ve covered it. Right?”

The director scowled as he yelled ‘cut’ for the millionth time.

The crew decided to cut their losses and finally stopped filming the scene. The brothers raced over to sit in their chairs as the crew worked to clear the set.

“Who wrote this? Nobody says ‘penultimate’.”

Dean snorted at his brother’s outburst. “Gun, mouth, now.”

Misha stormed up to them clenching his fists. His face was flushed a deep red as well as his lower lip, looking like he’d been gnawing on it. Misha grabbed Dean out of his chair by his jacket, the hunter letting loose an unmanly yelp as his fake-husband man-handled him over behind one of the mobile walls for the set, giving the two semi-privacy. 

“Are you high?” Misha’s expression demanding answers as he held Dean against the wall, much the way Cas did in the alley when he found out Dean was going to say yes to Michael. Dean suddenly felt very warm as the other man’s body pressed up against him. 

“What’s going on?” “What’s going on with me? How about what’s going on with you, buddy.” Dean snapped, going on the defensive

“What do you mean?” Misha squinted his eyes, head tilting slightly, the very Cas-like expression a punch to Dean’s gut.

“I saw you push away that PA chick,” Dean answered, harshly, “the one fluffing your hair or whatever. You don’t really strike me as a prick, so tell me, what gives?”

Misha’s expression darkened, the muscles in his jaw tightening. “Oh, yes, Heaven forbid I don’t want the lady—the one who has a borderline obsessive crush on you, the same one who told me eventually you’d realize what a mistake you made with me and go back to women—to touch me,” He spat.

Dean’s expression softened and the hunter felt like an asshole. “Mish, I had no idea.” He reached for his husband, looking to console him, but Misha pulled back looking hurt. Misha worried his lower lip, looking like he had something he wanted to say but was too afraid to say it. “What?”

“I told you about it last week.”

“I forgot. I’m Sorry,” Dean apologized. Misha lowered his gaze to the floor, his lower lip quivering. 

Fuck. Shit. Please don’t cry, please don’t cry. 

Something else was going. All this emotion, it couldn’t be just about a jealous chick spouting hate at his husband “Talk to me man, what’s going on?”

“I think they listened to Jared.” Misha’s voice was pained, barely above a whisper. He stared down blankly. “I think…I think they’re gonna kill Castiel off. Either at the end of this season, or maybe the premiere of next season.”

“What?! No, just…just…no. Not happening.” Dean dropped his head, shaking furiously. 

Misha just shook his head sadly, “I don’t know why they’d make Castiel betray you otherwise. It just doesn’t make any sense.”

Dean’s head lifted, blood running cold as he stood there, frozen. “What did you just say?” 

Misha looked worried, wide eyes watery, but the tears refusing to spill.

“Betray how?” Dean pressed, expression darkening even as he told himself how ridiculous it was. Cas was his best friend. His savior. Cas literally pulled him from the depths of Hell, turned his back on Heaven, trusting Dean knew what was right. They’ve fought side by side. Cas sacrificed his own life for Dean—twice. No. There was no way Cas would betray him. 

“I’m sorry. They wanted me to keep it from you until they are ready to film the revealer episode and give you and Jared the finished scripts. But you’re my husband. I don’t like keeping things from you,” He whined.

“Betray me how?” Dean repeated, voice sharp, deadly.

Misha looked at his husband with fear in his eyes, unsure of what to do, seeming to take a minute to weigh the consequences between telling Dean and making the studio upset, or not telling Dean and angering his husband further. “Well…for starters, Crowley is still alive.”

Dean stood paralyzed, blinking several times. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell Misha he was wrong, that Cas burned the demon’s bones. Dean was there, he saw it. Instead, the only thing that came out of the hunter’s mouth was a stunned, “What?!” 

Oh, yeah, Dean, there you go. Super smooth.

Misha sank down to the floor, sitting with his legs crossed as he leaned forward, massaging his temples in slow circles. “The only reason they told me is because they plan on having a Castiel-centric episode. Episode 21. They gave me a copy of the script so I could prepare myself for the coming episodes. I mean, they are still writing the episodes between now and then, but they got right on this episode. Finished the script and everything. I just…” 

Dean hated to see the man so distraught. He was torn between anger, confusion, and wanting to soothe his husband. He opted for the latter, kneeling in front of the man and cradling his jaw. Dean took a deep breath before slowly closing the distance with a chaste kiss on Misha’s soft, chapped lips. “Look, don’t worry about it, sweetheart. We’ll talk more at home, okay?” Dean promised, caressing his husband’s cheek with the pad of his thumb. Misha gasped softly, but nodded in agreement. 

“Okay.”

The smile shinning in Misha’s blue eyes made Dean feel even worse, knowing that he and Sam were about to perform the spell and go back to their own universe and Misha would once again be stuck with a husband who repeatedly chose his friends over his own spouse. Dean smiled for Misha’s benefit as the man walked away, deep down wanting to scream, hating the feeling of constantly lying to the face of the man that was supposed to be his husband, his partner in life. 

With everyone off the set, Sam and Dean made quick work of putting the spell together, Dean expertly painting the blood sigil on the window. “All right, damn it. We earned this.”

“That’s it?” 

“That’s it, Toto.” Dean looked at Sam, both giving a nod to each other before sprinting across the set as fast as they could and jumping through the window, shoulder first. Where there was a soft black mat the first time, now they were greeted with the punishing concrete of the studio floor. “Ow, that one hurt,” Dean groaned, looking up to see Misha’s concerned face, running towards the brothers at the sound of the shattering glass on the otherwise silent set. Dean rolled onto his back, laying amidst the broken pieces of glass. 

“Hey, babe,” Dean coughed, hoping he didn’t look as bad as his body currently felt.

Misha stared down at them in disbelief, “Are you sure you’re not on drugs?” 

 

“Maybe we did it wrong.” Sam suggested as they sulked into Jensen’s trailer. Sam plopped down in the chair at the small dining table raking a hand through his long hair as he blew out a frustrated breath.

“No,” Dean shook his head, “that spell was perfect. It should have worked.” He paced back and forth in the large trailer, Sam’s eyes following him with each step. “What if it can’t?” Dean muttered. He took a seat across from Sam. “I was up all night looking online. There’s no sign of anything like the apocalypse ever happening here.”

“You did research? Willingly?” Sam asked, skeptical.

“Fuck you, asshole.” Dean balled up a page from a script discarded on the table and whipped it at his brother’s face. Sam batted it away with a small laugh. “As far as I can tell; monsters, ghosts, demons, angels…they’re all pretend,” Dean continued.

“No hunters?”

“Nope. No hunters. No Heaven. No Hell. Maybe that’s why the spell didn’t work, Sam. There’s no magic in this universe. We…we might be stuck here.”

Sam continuously shook his head, mortified, refusing to believe it. “No. No. We’ll find a way, Dean. We always do.” Dean looked at Sam, unsure if his little brother was right this time around. “And if not, I’m sure Balthazar or Cas will find us and bring us home.”

 

***

Sam and Dean walked through the studio, heads hanging, avoiding the stunt doubles rehearsing fight scenes and the rest of the crew scurrying around. As Dean started up the metal steps across one of the sets not in use—honestly it looked like a metal catwalk in a sewer or something—Sam’s distressing yell made him look up in time to see the angel Virgil on the metal catwalk in front of them. Before Dean even had time to process how Virgil found them in this universe, the angel reached out, placing a hand on the elder Winchester’s forehead. 

Dean’s body tensed, eyes falling closed as he waited for the angelic wrath he knew was coming, hearing his brother scream in the background. Dean braced himself and then…nothing. Dean opened his eyes to see a stunned Virgil and triumph flooded through the hunter. “Sorry dude, mojo-free zone.” Dean taunted. 

“No magic in the house,” Sam added. 

“Which makes you nothing but a dick,” Dean sneered, throwing a punch. His fist collided with the dickhead’s jaw, but even though the angel couldn’t use his mojo, Virgil’s face was like punching a steel beam. “Fuck!” 

The brothers took turns swinging at the angel, maneuvering Virgil so that he was between the Winchesters. Once they had the angel where they wanted him, Sam latched onto Virgil, holding the angel’s arms back while Dean started wailing on him. 

Before they could knock douche-angel unconscious, four guys were pulling the Winchesters off Virgil, allowing the slimy little angel to escape. 

“No! You don’t understand!” Sam pleaded, trying to break free of the two men holding him. 

Dean called after Virgil with murderous intent. The men held onto Sam and Dean until the brothers stopped struggling. 

“What the fuck?” One of them yelled, throwing his hands in the air before stalking away. 

“You’ve really done it this time guys,” the older man sighed. “Hopefully we can pay off that extra so he doesn’t sue your pants off. Or the company.” 

“Fuck you. Fuck the company. Fuck this whole goddamn universe.” Dean spat. 

The older gentleman shook his head in disappointment, following the others who had already left.

 

***

The first thing the Winchesters heard after walking through the front door of the Ackles’ mansion was crying. Crying and hysterical yelling. 

What the hell? 

Misha rounded the corner into the hallway, phone clutched to his chest, tear tracks streaking flushed cheeks, eyes red-rimmed. The sight of this man, this Cas-shaped man, looking so broken clawed at Dean’s chest, but he pushed the unpleasant feeling aside and cleared his throat. 

What would a normal guy do if he came home to his husband hysterically crying? Dean glanced at his brother who just shrugged. Unhelpful idiot. Dean walked up, wrapping his arms around Misha’s lower back bringing his other hand to cup the man’s face, thumb brushing away the wetness. 

“Hey, Sweetheart,” Dean whispered, currently not giving a flying fuck what Sam thought of the intimate contact or the pet name. 

“He’s dead.” Misha mumbled, staring blankly ahead, numb. “They killed him.” 

“Who’s dead, baby?” Dean asked softly, carding his hands through his husband’s thick hair. Misha raised his eyes, the heartache in them palpable. 

“Sebastian. He’s been stabbed to death!” He shrieked, grabbing hold of Dean’s jacket with one fist, trying to anchor himself from the nightmare. 

Sam’s looked at them, confused. “Sebastian….like…Balthazar-Sebastian?” 

Anger flared in Misha’s eyes and he pinned Sam with a glare, knuckles turning white as he grasped the phone at his chest harder. “Do you know another fucking Sebastian?!” Misha boomed, making Sam wince. 

Sam hung his head, scolded by the ice in Misha’s voice. 

Misha let loose a strangled sob, burying his face against Dean’s chest, soaking through the hunter’s shirt. Dean pat his back, making little shushing noises as his husband cried. Dean bit his lip. He had his suspicions about what happened, but there was no way he could tell Misha. He’d think Dean was crazy. 

“Did they tell you where it happened?” 

Misha’s head snapped up, startled. “Where?” He asked, confused. 

“Yeah, we’ll go find out what happened.” Offered Sam. 

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, “we’ll make sure it wasn’t some crazed fan or something and that you and the rest of the crew are safe.” 

Misha stared at the brothers in disbelief, but reluctantly told them the approximate location of the stabbing he’d been given over the phone. He stopped Dean with a hand to his shoulder on their way out the door. 

“This is crazy, Jen, it’s a crime scene! What makes you think you’ll get anywhere near it, let alone learn any information from the police?” 

Dean grinned, cocky and self-assured. “C’mon babe. I’m Dean-fucking-Winchester,” he wiggled his brows, “I can get anyone to tell me anything.” Misha rolled his eyes, the start of a smile playing at his lips. Dean leaned in close, pressing a quick kiss to the center of the man’s forehead. “I see that smile,” Dean teased. “We’ll be back soon.”

 

***

When they reached the dark alley roped off with yellow crime scene tape, the stench of vomit and urine assaulted Dean’s nostrils and Sam wrinkled his nose in disgust. Dean refused to let it get to him; both the situation and the rank smell. 

A body lay on the ground, a sheet draped over it, soaked in blood only around the neck area. Sebastian wasn’t stabbed. Someone slit the man’s throat. Brutal. A few uniforms were walking around the body, chatting about the hockey game, while two detectives were further down the alley questioning a homeless man. Dean confidently strode past the chatty officers to get closer to the homeless man, trying to pick up the end of the conversation with Sam right on his heels. 

“Yeah, yeah, that’s right!” The man nodded furiously to the detective, “Raphael—like the ninja turtle.” 

Sam and Dean locked eyes, nodding to each other before catching the homeless guy after the police let him go. 

Dean listened to the guy’s story, giving him a couple hundred dollars for his trouble. Dean remembers all too well what it’s like to be hungry. At least he and his brother had a dingy motel roof over their heads or the roof of the Impala. 

The homeless man thanked them and ran off into the dark, leaving Dean to contemplate what he just heard. So, Raph was gonna pull that shmuck Virgil back through to their own universe, huh? 

Well, Sam and Dean would be there waiting and hitch a ride home. They needed to come up with a plan though because after they pull the interdimensional piggy-back ride, the brothers would be faced with a very pissed off archangel and Virgil, all powered up again. Dean also needed to come up with a backup plan if things went south. 

Maybe he could find a way to leave Virgil behind. If it came down to it he’d kill the angel, which, back in their own universe was fine, Dean would have no problem wasting the angelic douchebag, but here—in a universe with no magic—Virgil was as good as human and Dean Winchester wasn’t in the business of killing humans. Although if it came down to them or Virgil, Dean wouldn’t hesitate. 

Dean will call that Plan C.

 

***

It was the middle of the night when the boys got back to the mansion. Misha was waiting for them, curled in a blanket on one of the couches, the house dark except for one small lamp with a low-watt bulb casting a soft glow on Misha’s face. 

There were dark circles under red eyes; he must have been crying again. 

Dean felt like the most horrible jerk-wad in the world. His husband’s best friend was brutally murdered and the first thing Dean does is take off with Sam, leaving Misha to grieve by himself. 

Misha’s eyes slowly lifted. He looked exhausted and Dean felt the sudden urge to pull the man into a bear hug and never let go. Sam motioned to the guest room, clapping Dean on the shoulder before shuffling off to bed, leaving the elder Winchester alone with his temporary spouse. Dean plopped down on the overstuffed couch, jostling Misha. 

“What are you still doing up, babe?” Dean whispered, fighting the urge to run his fingers through that dark, unruly hair. “You should get some rest. It’s been a hell of a day.” 

Dean waited for a response, but Misha remained still, eyes open, but unseeing. Dean nudged Misha’s thigh with his knee, calling out to him again. Misha blinked rapidly before turning to face the hunter. 

“You and Jared have an 8am call time tomorrow.” Misha’s voice was scratchy and rough, probably from hours of crying, and Dean felt a little guilty that his first thought was how happy he was to hear Castiel’s voice again. 

“Wait, we all got to work tomorrow?” Dean couldn’t believe that people had to be on set the next morning after one of their own was killed. Jesus, the film industry were greedy vampires. Vapid, shallow, money-grubbing assholes. 

Dean kicked off his boots, laying back to angle his body against the arm of the large couch, swinging a leg up behind Misha’s back while the other leg remained on the floor, spreading his legs apart wide. “C’mere,” Dean murmured, stretching out his arms in invitation to his husband. Misha took the offer, twisting around so he was lying against Dean, back to chest. 

Misha wiggled his ass side to side as he got comfortable and Dean had to bite his lip extra hard to distract himself. Now was not the time for inappropriate boners. 

When Misha finally settled down, eyes closed, dark lashes fanning over prominent cheekbones, Dean wrapped both arms around the other’s chest holding him tight. The hunter gently kissed his hair, whispering a steady stream of ‘it’s okay’ and ‘I’ve got you’ until Misha’s breathing evened out and soon, Dean’s breathing fell into a deep steady rhythm and joining his husband in unconsciousness. 

Dean woke up with a sore back and a kink in his neck. He tried to quell the disappointment of waking alone, the comfortable heat of his husband’s body long gone. He shifted to a sitting position, joints popping as Dean stretched his cramped muscles reaching up toward the ceiling. 

The smell of coffee filled Dean’s nose and he let out a groan of appreciation, padding to the kitchen, following the delicious aroma. The button on his jeans were popped open, hanging down on his hips revealing the waistband of Dean’s plaid boxers. His t-shirt was rumpled, and his over shirt was twisted awkwardly around his body. Dean ran his fingers quickly through his hair, doing nothing to tame the wild mane. 

Misha didn’t look much better, standing in front of the coffee pot, the underneath of his eyes even darker than they were the previous night, eyes puffy and bloodshot. His hair was also sticking out in all directions, like Dean’s, and he had a 5 o’clock shadow covering his jaw. 

Misha stayed hunched over the pot of coffee, not seeming to have heard Dean enter, or maybe he didn’t care. It would serve Dean right for being such an inconsiderate prick last night. 

“Hey, Mish,” Dean walked slowly toward the man with careful movements like he was approaching a skittish animal. “How ya holdin’ up, buddy?” 

Misha visibly flinched at the word ‘buddy’ and Dean kicked himself. Misha stared at the full coffee pot, mug unused beside him on the counter. 

“Would you like some coffee before work, Jen?” He asked, voice deep and rough with sleep sending chills through Dean’s body once again. 

“Uh, yeah, sure, babe.” Misha got another mug down from the cupboard, refusing to look in Dean’s direction as he filled both mugs and slid the hunter his. Dean felt a twinge of pain in his stomach, wishing Misha would just look at him. “Uh, thanks.” Dean mumbled, Misha giving a noncommittal grunt, closing his eyes as he brought the steaming liquid to his lips. 

“You should get ready for work. Cliff is waiting for you outside.”

Dean set down his coffee. He grabbed Misha’s mug from his hands, still unused, setting it down on the counter and wrapping his arms around his husband’s waist, peppering little kisses on the back of Misha’s neck. 

“Please, Misha. Just look at me. I can’t go to work with you being so pissed at me.”

“It never stopped you before.”

Dean blanched, holding onto the man tighter. “Please,” he begged, “please just let me kiss you.”

It was a long few seconds before Misha turned in his arms, finally looking into Dean’s eyes. Dean wasted no time touching his lips to the soft, chapped ones in front of him. He lost himself in the kiss, Misha dazzling him with his skill as their tongues danced together. 

It was over too soon and Dean whimpered at the loss.

“Go to work, Jen. I’ll see you when you get home” Misha said with one last kiss to Dean’s cheek. Misha grabbed his coffee mug and left the kitchen, Dean staring after him. 

“No,” Dean whispered sadly, “You won’t.”

 

***

The Winchesters arrived at the studio to an eerie silence. Sam glanced around the empty lot, brows furrowed as he turned in a slow circle. “Um, does it seem a little…quiet, to you?”  
Dean shrugged, “Maybe they decided to take the day off in mourning like normal human beings.” 

Dean couldn’t quite shake the image of Misha from that morning, standing at the counter, staring at his full cup of coffee, face drawn and pale, eyes sad and tired, hair ruffled beyond the usual ‘bed-head’. 

They walked slowly toward Studio 4, freezing when a large, dark mass came into view in the middle of the street. It was a body, blood soaking through what might have once been a white shirt and pooling beneath the corpse. 

“Uh, Dean?” 

They jogged to the body, seeing another splayed on the ground ahead. It looked like the director. 

“Shit.” 

Several shots rang out, coming from the studio to the right, followed by screams. 

“Shit!” Dean repeated, breaking into a run. Inside they saw more bodies, bleeding and sprawled on the floor. 

Virgil had a shotgun, along with several other weapons and was gunning down anyone in his path. The priority was to draw the angel’s attention away from blowing away the civilians. 

Sam nodded to Dean in silent agreement, the brothers long having mastered the art of the silent conversation. 

Sam ran behind Virgil, screaming at the angel to distract him. It worked. Virgil turned at the insistent shouting, giving Dean enough time to rush the unaware angel, ramming shoulder-first into the angel’s midsection, tackling him to the ground and knocking the shotgun and pistol from Virgil’s hands. Dean got in a couple good shots to the angel’s face before Virgil countered, sending Dean flying across the motel room set. Dean regained his footing quickly, dodging another attempt from the angel who stumbled over the bed, his fist swinging furiously in the air where the hunter just was. 

Sam burst through the ‘front door’ of the motel set, lunging at Virgil just as the angel stood. The Winchesters both tackled Virgil to the ground, Dean dealing heavy blows to the angel’s jaw, knocking him unconscious. 

The window of the motel set started to vibrate, the strange red glow of the transportation sigil coming to life. 

The brothers shared a look, Sam screaming out, “Raphael! Run!” As he and Dean attempted to flee, they were pulled by the power of the archangel across time and space, backs crashing into the glass. Despite smashing into the window back-first, the brothers somehow landed on their stomachs on the ground.

Dean pushed himself up, glass shards slicing into his palms, taking in his surroundings. They seemed to be back in their own universe, lying on the cement of a motel parking lot. It was nighttime.

A black woman in a dark pantsuit with cold eyes stalked toward them. “You two…have the strangest luck,” she shook her head. 

Dean could feel an aura of danger surrounding the woman. The air seemed to be electrified and Dean swore he smelled ozone. “Raphael?” Dean asked as he and Sam got to their feet. 

She stared blankly in response. 

Dean took that as a yes. 

“Nice meat suit,” Dean snickered, “Dude looks like a lady,” he stage-whispered to his brother, which was probably a bad idea considering her response was gripping them with her mojo and wracking their bodies with severe pain. 

“The key,” Raphael demanded as the Winchesters crumpled to the ground, trying to fight through the torture. The orange-handled key had fallen from Sam’s pocket and he tried to crawl to it without the archangel noticing. 

It didn’t work. 

She snatched the key from the ground. 

“And that will open you a locker at the Albany bus station.” Balthazar strolled casually up to the trio, looking smug. 

“Is that so?” Raphael took her attention from the Winchester, allowing the boys to their feet once again. 

“I needed a modest decoy to make it convincing.” Balthazar replied. 

“Give me the weapons.” The archangel demanded, coolly. 

“Sorry darling, they’re gone.” 

“What?” 

“You’re too bloody late. You see, they were so well hidden that I needed time to find them,” Balthazar explained, “so I volunteered these two marmosets to play a game of fetch with Virgil. You two were adequate, thank you, boys.” He added. 

Dean looked angrily at Balthazar. He should have known the douche-angel set them up as bait. 

“You’ve made your last mistake,” Raphael threatened. 

“I’ve got a few more up my sleeve, honey,” Balthazar taunted the archangel, who strode forward with determination to smite the other angel out of existence, when Dean heard it. The voice he’d missed so much. 

“Step away from him Raphael,” Cas ordered, “I have the weapons now, their power is with me.” 

Thunder roared and lightening crackled overhead, Castiel’s body glowing bright white with power and behind him, the shadow of two massive wings stretching out. 

Dean gulped at the intimidating display of power, mind flashing back to a time Cas threatened to throw him back to Hell. Dean wasn’t sure if he was scared or turned on. Maybe both if he’s being completely honest with himself. 

“Castiel,” Raphael breathed. 

Dean panicked, worried about his friend, but apparently, it was unwarranted as the angel stalked forward, menacing and cocky. “If you don’t want to die tonight, back off.” Cas glared at the archangel, squaring his shoulders, ready for a fight. 

Raphael vanished with the flutter of wings. 

There were so many things Dean wanted to say. His emotions were boiling over and he wasn’t sure which one was going to break the surface first. 

Turns out, it was jealously. 

Huh. Didn’t see that coming. 

Balthazar smiled softly at Cas, reaching a hand out to squeeze the other angel’s shoulder. The corner of Cas’ mouth pulled up a tiny bit as he and V-neck shared a few words, making Dean’s stomach churn. 

Balthazar vanished and Cas turned his attention to the brothers. 

“Uh, Cas—” Dean didn’t get out another word before the damn angel pressed two fingers to the Winchesters foreheads, flying them to Bobby’s house. Dean stumbled as they landed and felt the bile rise in his throat. Fucking ‘angel express’. 

Sam didn’t even give the angel a second before he started in on him. “Wait. Wait, so you were in on this? Using us as a diversion?” 

“It was Balthazar’s plan. I would have done the same thing.” Cas answered. 

“That’s not comforting, Cas.” Dean snapped. 

“When will I be able to make you understand? If I lose against Raphael, we all lose everything.” 

“Yeah, Cas. We know the stakes. That’s about all you’ve told us.” 

Dean and Cas stopped arguing for a moment, lost in each other’s eyes before the angel looked down, ashamed. 

“I’m sorry about all this,” he swallowed hard, eyes locking on Dean’s with so much sorrow. “I’ll explain when I can,” he promised, disappearing, leaving the brother’s alone in Bobby’s den, storm still raging on outside. 

Dean wondered how long they’d been gone from their universe. 

The hunter stared at the empty spot where Cas was, willing the angel to come back. 

He didn’t. 

“Friggin angels.” 

Sam walked reluctantly to the door frame leading from Bobby’s den to the kitchen, giving it a few smacks and letting out a long exhale. He turned, giving Dean a small smile. “Solid. It’s real.” Sam said, relieved. “Nice.” 

“Yeah,” Dean sighed, shaking his head, “yeah, real, moldy, termite-eaten, home-sweet-home. Chock full of crap that wants to skin you…oh, and…we’re broke again.” 

“What, do you wish we didn’t make it back or something? You want to stay in that other universe where you’re rich, living in a mansion with Fake-Cas?” Sam asked, incredulous, “We weren’t even brothers there Dean.” 

Dean turned away from his brother, staring out the window into the gloomy night. Is that what he wanted?  
“No, Sammy, I just…it was nice, ya know. Not having the weight of the world on our shoulders.”  
Sam clapped him on the back. “Yeah, I hear ya. I’m gonna hit the hay. See you in the morning.” “Yeah, night Sammy.”

Dean paced Bobby’s house, trying not to wake Sam or the old man. When Bobby had gotten back from his supply run, Dean had given him the run down on everything that happened. 

“Damn, boy, I can’t leave you alone for five minutes without you getting in trouble!” 

Bobby retired to bed, Sam already having been asleep for a while, but Dean was too hyped up. He couldn’t stop wondering about Misha over in that other universe and how his fake-husband was doing. 

That lead to thoughts of Cas and what Misha had mentioned about betraying him and Crowley still being alive. 

Dean took a big swig from the bottle of Jim Beam and tilted his head to the ceiling, eyes falling closed. “Cas. Castiel. I…I need you. Please. It’s really important, man.” Dean added one more ‘please’ for good measure. 

The hunter didn’t actually expect the angel to show up, but lo and behold, an angel of the lord greeted him, wings fluttering invisible behind him. 

“Hello, Dean.” 

“Hiya, Cas.” Dean smiled briefly, stepping closer to the angel. 

Until this very moment Dean wasn’t sure how he was gonna play this, but now that Cas was here, in front of him, alone, Dean let it all go. “I missed you.” 

Confusion passed over Cas’ face along with something else too quick to name. “I missed you also, Dean.” Cas shuffled his feet, eyes cast down. “I am sorry about what Balthazar did to you and your brother. I wish he would have told me first.” 

“Would it have made a difference?” 

Blue eyes looked up at him, “I guess we’ll never know.” 

“You know you’re my best friend, right, Cas?” 

The angel looked startled and Dean’s saddened by the fact that his angel doesn’t know how important he is. “You, Sam, Bobby,” the hunter continued, “you’re my family, man.” 

Cas stood, speechless, Dean using the opportunity to get closer. His skin buzzed with a crazy energy and he felt like he was gonna jump out of his skin if he couldn’t touch the angel in front of him. They stood barely a foot apart, blue eyes continually dropping to look at Dean’s mouth.  
He wondered if Cas’ lips would be as soft as Misha’s. He wondered if Cas would kiss slow and sweet. 

An image of the demon Meg floated to Dean’s brain, unbidden; Cas spinning her and pressing the demon against a wall, fingers tangling in long, dark curls as he settled his mouth over hers, rough and deep, yet sensual, right before they faced Hellhounds to get to Crowley. 

Crowley. 

“Crowley.” Dean said, stepping back and breaking the trance between them. 

“Wha…what?” 

Dean didn’t think it was possible for an angel to pale. 

“He’s still alive, Cas.” 

The angel shook his head furiously. “No, no, that’s not possible. I burned his bones.” 

“Did you, though?” 

“Are you calling me a liar?” Cas challenged. 

Dean backed the angel until the backs of his legs hit Bobby’s kitchen table, leaning in until his face was only inches away. “We’ve fought side by side. We’re friends…family. Please, Cas. I can’t take any more lies. Sam and Ruby and the demon blood. The angels and their divine plans. You’re the only one who’s always been honest with me, man. Please…” Dean begged leaning his forehead against the angel’s, squeezing his eyes shut tight. “Please don’t lie to me now.” 

Dean kissed the angel’s lips, soft, slow, chaste. 

Cas cracked. 

Tears poured from the angel’s eyes and he choked on his own sobs as he told Dean everything. Raising Sam from the cage. Not knowing that his soul was missing. Guilt. Pride. Raphael. The war in Heaven. Watching Dean rake leaves. 

Dean cradled the angel as he poured his heart out, clearly in over his head with Crowley and the angels. Crowley’s plan for the souls of purgatory. Cas just wanting to beat Raphael to avert another apocalypse. 

“You should have come to me first, Cas.” Dean said angrily, still embracing the crying angel. 

“I know, but you’ve been through so much, given so much already— “ 

“And I’ll give more!” 

“But you shouldn’t have to!” 

“Yeah well life’s not fair, Cas.” 

They breathed heavily against each other, mouths close, and Dean couldn’t hold back anymore. “We’re not done talking about this yet.” 

“What?” Cas asked, confused. 

Dean cut him off, sealing his lips over the angel’s. Cas moaned, digging his fingers into Dean’s back, the hunter lifting him up on the table, stepping in between Cas’ legs. “Cas, is this okay?” Dean panted against the angel’s mouth, flicking his tongue along the angel’s upper lip, “Do you…do you want me?” 

“Yes! Yes, Dean, please!” Cas tilted his head back allowing the hunter access to his neck, moaning obscenely. “Deeaaaan!” Cas whined. 

Dean slid his tongue into the angel’s mouth, giddy at the feel of an erection in Cas’ slacks. “No. Not here. Fly us somewhere Cas. Somewhere with a big bed.” 

Cas’ pupils expanded and the angel sucked in a deep breath. “Okay,” the angel said, hoarsely. 

“Son of a bitch!” Dean yelled feeling the familiar pull of angel flight on his human body. They landed on an enormous four-poster bed in a large, dark room. With the flick of a wrist, Cas turned the lights on low. 

“Where are we?” Dean asked from flat on his back, 180 lbs of angel squirming on top of him. 

“Balthazar’s mansion.” Cas said into his neck, biting kisses down to his collarbone. 

“What?!” 

“Don’t worry, Dean, he’s not home.” The angel stated, as if that made it okay. 

“Ew, no! I am not having sex in that slutty angel’s bed!” 

Cas chuckled, snapping his fingers, stripping them both of their clothing. Dean’s brain screeched to a halt; Cas, naked, penis, playing on repeat.  
“This is the guest room Dean, I assure you, the only bodily fluids on these sheets will be ours.” 

Dean groaned, pulling Cas into another kiss, exploring the silky heat of the angel’s mouth with his tongue. The hunter was pulled taut like a bowstring and he needed to feel his angel before he blew his load and this was all over.

“Closer,” Dean gasped, fisting the angel’s hair and crashing their lips together, teeth clacking painfully, but neither seeming to care. The hunter aggressively shoved his tongue down Cas’ throat, coaxing the angel’s tongue into his own mouth and sucking on it like he was trying to swallow the angel whole. 

“Closer,” Dean murmured, pulling their bodies flush from shoulder to hip. Dean wrapped his legs around the angel’s waist in a vice grip, rolling his hips up to meet Cas’. “Closer,” he repeated. 

“Dean,” Cas managed between kisses, “I’m lying on top of you with your extremities wrapped around me,” Dean whined, arching his hips upward with more force, the angel hissing from the friction of their erections, “if I were any ‘closer’ I’d be insid—” Cas paused and Dean saw the realization crash over the angel like a tidal wave. “Oh…” 

Dean turned his head, unable to hold Cas’ gaze. It was too soft. Too tender. He wasn’t sure he could handle what he saw swirling in the depths of those ocean-blue eyes. Gentle fingers stroked the side of Dean’s face, tilting the hunter’s head. He could feel his cheeks heat from embarrassment as Cas searched his face. 

“Do not be embarrassed, Dean. I would be greatly honored to share this experience with you.” 

His smile put Dean at ease. Cas took his time, kissing down Dean’s body, gently massaging the hunter’s muscles to relax him. The angel mojo’d up a bottle of lube, slicking up long, slender fingers and carefully working Dean open. It was awkward at first, never having done this before, but not horribly painful like he’d expected. The weirdness subsided quickly, and after a while the slip-slide and scissoring of the angel’s fingers began to feel good. Really good. Dean moaned, writhing on Cas’ fingers, unable to keep still as the pleasure built slowly and then, then Cas crooked his fingers and holy fucking shit, Dean’s body lit up. 

“Fuck! Cas, do that again.” The angel complied, rubbing the spot in hurried, short, strokes. 

“Please. I’m ready, Cas. I swear. Please!” 

Cas used the excess lube from his fingers to slick his erection and Dean had to grab the base of his cock to stop from coming. The angel leaned between Dean’s legs, hitching up the hunter’s hips with a strong hand, guiding himself into Dean with the other. Cas was slow and tender, allowing Dean to adjust to his size and the new feeling of being filled. 

The angel bit his lip, body shaking gently. 

“Are you…does it feel okay?” Dean was suddenly unsure if this was such a good idea, but the angel reassured him. 

“It is very okay, Dean. In fact, it feels a little too good. I…need a moment.” Cas leaned down, kissing Dean’s lips sweetly as he started to move, shallow strokes at first, building to longer, deeper ones. 

“Cas!” 

They moved together as one, eyes locked, breath mingling between them as little whimpers and moans were drawn out of the men. 

“Dean.” Cas whined and the hunter knew he was close. 

The angel grabbed Dean’s cock in a firm grasp and started tugging. A wave of pleasure crashed over Dean and he could feel the that the angel found his release as well; the muscles of Cas’ back and legs stiffening as he groaned, burying his face in the side of Dean’s neck. 

They lay panting, trying to catch their breath before the angel rolled off Dean, waving a hand to mojo-clean the mess splashed onto Dean’s abdomen. Cas grabbed the silk sheet, pulling it over the two of them and sliding underneath Dean’s arm, once again reminding the hunter of his fake-husband another universe away.

“I’m still pissed at you,” Dean said softly, brushing a lock of dark hair from the angel’s forehead. Cas remained silent, eyes lowering like a scolded child. “I mean, it’s Crowley, Cas,” he continued, “how could you make a deal with Crowley?” 

“I told you, I didn’t want— “ 

“I know what you told me, damn it,” Dean untangled himself from the angel’s embrace, sitting up in the bed, scrubbing his hands down his face as he let out a frustrated breath. “You should have come to me first, man. We can figure out how to defeat the Ninja Turtle together. You don’t need Crowley.” 

“Raphael is an archangel, he’s Heaven’s most terrifying weapon— “ 

“Yeah, I friggin’ remember the speech, Cas.” 

“And you would do well to listen!” Cas growled. 

The angel’s face fell and he reached for Dean. “I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you.” A tear fell down Cas’ cheek and he turned blue eyes to Dean. “I can’t lose you, Dean. I just can’t.” 

Dean kissed the tear away, pulling the angel into his arms. “You won’t, Cas. I promise.” 

“You can’t promise that.” Cas buried his face in Dean’s chest. “Raphael is so powerful.” 

“What if she wasn’t.” 

“What?” Cas squinted. 

“What if she wasn’t. Cas,” Dean said, excited, “what if we used Balthazar’s spell?” The angel stared at him blankly. “The universe Balth sent us to, the one we left Virgil in.” 

“What about it?” 

“There’s no magic there! She’ll be human” Dean saw that the pieces were finally sliding into place for the angel. 

“If there is no magic, and we send Raphael there, there will be no one to pull her back home.” 

“Exactly!” Dean smiled. “Then you wouldn’t need Crowley or the souls in purgatory or anything.” 

“Not exactly.” 

Dean frowned. “What do you mean not exactly?” 

Cas smiled wide, his nose and eyes crinkling. “I’ll still need you.” 

Dean felt as if his heart would burst at any moment. He cupped the angel’s face in his hands, kissing him deeply. “And I’ll need you too, angel. Always.”


End file.
